which such men
as he might smile. But he tried to think that in this case there
would be special circumstances which would almost justify him, and
also her. They had loved each other and had sworn to love each other
with constancy. There had been no change in the feelings or even in
the wishes of either of them. But cold people had come between them
with cold calculations, and had separated them. She had been, he told
himself, made to marry a man she did not love. If they two loved
each other truly, would it not still be better that they should come
together? Would not the sin be forgiven on account of the injustice
which had been done to them? Had Mr Palliser a right to expect more
from a wife who had been made to marry him without loving him? Then
he reverted to those dreams of a life of love, in some sunny country,
of which he had spoken to Vavasor, and he strove to nourish them.
Vavasor had laughed at him, talking of Juan and Haidee. But Vavasor,
he said to himself, was a hard cold man, who had no touch of romance
in his character. He would not be laughed out of his plan by such as
he,--nor would he be frightened by the threat of any Lambro who might
come after him, whether he might come in the guise of indignant uncle
or injured husband.

He had crossed from Regent Street through Hanover Square, and as he
came out by the iron gates into Oxford Street, a poor wretched girl,
lightly clad in thin raiment, into whose bones the sharp freezing air
was penetrating, asked him for money. Would he give her something to
get drink, so that for a moment she might feel the warmth of her life
renewed? Such midnight petitions were common enough in his ears, and
he was passing on without thinking of her. But she was urgent, and
took hold of him. "For love of God," she said, "if it's only a penny
to get a glass of gin! Feel my hand,--how cold it is." And she strove
to put it up against his face.

He looked round at her and saw that she was very young,--sixteen,
perhaps, at the most, and that she had once,--nay very lately,--been
exquisitely pretty. There still lingered about her eyes some remains
of that look of perfect innocency and pure faith which had been hers
not more than twelve months since. And now, at midnight, in the
middle of the streets, she was praying for a pennyworth of gin, as
the only comfort she knew, or could expect!

"You are cold!" said he, trying to speak to her cheerily.

"Cold!" said she, repeating the